Dare not speak his name
by Medusamum
Summary: How do you go on when the war is won, but all your reasons for fighting it are lost? Come along with Remus Lupin as looks for the answer to this question, and perhaps for pieces of ever elusive Truth. 1981 AU RemusSirius Angsty Goodness…with a not happy,
1. Chapter 1

Dare not speak his name

A story by Medusamum

_And alien tears will fill for him__  
__Pity's long broken urn,__  
__For his mourners will be outcast men,__  
__And outcasts always mourn. _

_FromThe Ballad of Reading Gaol_

_ Oscar Wilde_

**1**

The simple truth is I don't believe it. I can't believe it. In my mind they are all dead…even him. How much easier to believe oneself bereaved rather than betrayed…and I would almost rather believe myself something of his widower than his victim. All of us lost…James, Lily, Peter dead…Harry…Harry…little Harry orphaned and in danger even now, no matter how the rest of the world may celebrate and proclaim it's new found safety and freedom. I, myself, am something worse than dead…breathing, heart still stubbornly beating…locked alone in this suffering…this guilt and shame. Shame. Burning with the unbearable shame of having loved with every fiber of my being, the one who has seen us all undone. Loved … my throat contracts around it self strangling out the howl I can not, _will_ not release…I fold myself up inside, like little bits of ugly origami.

"Remus…" he had said it slowly, danger scraping across my name like sandpaper.

We had been fighting, again…that frustrated circling, snipping and growling that we seemed to manage even when our respective fur was shed. Our distrust and fear was rippling just under the surface. A spy in our midst…and though the words were never spoken we could not deny that it could be either of us. Our words were always stunted, as we were never able to tell the whole truth either by duty, magic or some hope of protecting the other…and from that grew the unspeakable, unimaginable fear that it could be one of us. Never spoken, yet always growing, that fear had wrapped it's self around us that night.

"Moony…" he said softer, steadying himself, deflating…even defeated.

"You need to know…" He laughed in that harsh frantic way that means he is scared, and then I steeled myself…waiting for some confession or accusation of my worst fears.

"You need to know..." he said again almost choking, each word torn painfully from his chest. "No matter what happens that I love…always love you." The shock of those words comes like a slap in the face…he can't even bear to look at me for the shame of the unspoken messages behind those words…and the truth of them. I'm breaking…shattering…pieces of me falling to the floor around our feet. And truly that was a confession beyond my worst fears…that even if _was_ me you found yourself unable let go of that love…and even if it was you. I wept. Perhaps wept is even to graceful of a word for the great heaving waves of bitter tears and gasps that shuttered through me like earthquakes. And he held me. We clung together, broken in the shame of it. We couldn't _not _love one another, even if we shouldn't. I felt more of a monster that night than I ever had under the light of the moon, knowing that I loved you, and would continuing loving you even if it were you that was the traitor; knowing that I would have loved you still if it were I doing the betraying. We held each other through the night locked in the moment of that horrible confession. Then waking awkwardly the next morning, skin still burning with the shame of it and unable to meet each others eyes. The worst of it is that I think we trusted the other less for it rather than more, knowing that neither of us could trust ourselves. We never spoke of it again.

Even now, knowing what has come to pass and even living with the burning shame of that confession, I still can not believe it was you. This shames me even more. The unbearable guilt of loving the guilty wears at me, leaving me brittle and weak. Surely this is the most monstrous thing about me. That even now…I love you.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

My nights are defined by confused and broken dreams, but mornings bring no relief…only faded washed out sunlight and despite my better judgment, I still crawl from my bed and continue living. It can get no worse, I tell myself. Two weeks…two weeks have passed since the end of the world and I am standing at my kitchen window drinking tea. Dishes half boxed sit on the counter, waiting to be moved…somewhere, because I know I can't be in this flat any longer…running away because even if I can't escape this pain I can at least escape these walls. Today will be the worst of it. A trip through glaring, wondering eyes to the ministry and to the pit of what I had once thought the worst place in the world. The Werewolf Registry would need to know of and approve my new housing before I could move.

I walk through muggle London, because the weight of the eyes in Diagon Alley would be more than I can bear, and even now I am still unsure that I could apperate without splinching myself. There is the phone booth, a name tag I don't even bother to read, the weighing of my wand and then echoing hallways and snippets of conversation I can't allow myself to hear, but hear none the less.

"Yes…the Potters such a shame…"

I can hear the insincerity in that…because this person hasn't to had to pay a price too great even for the end of a dark and bloody war.

"That Black fellow…hardly a surprise considering the family he came from, every last one of them…"

But I don't hear what 'every last one of them' is or did, because the blood is roaring in my ears, and I can only bitterly remember how much he hated that family, and his grim pride at having been burnt off that accursed family tree. Willing myself forward I push each step as though walking through water…my pain swirling in little eddies as I go.

"…still don't know what curse he used…suspect it was the reductor…but so much damage…who knows"

"Poor Pettigrew, he was such a mousey little fellow, who knows why that maniac went after him of all people."

Unable to stop myself I turn and stare at the person who said that, almost choking on the ironic truth of it. A nervous giggle breaks in my throat and comes out as disquieting wretch.

And then wide eyes are turned upon me and recognition is going off like flash bulbs on the faces of the little gossiping crowd. It is all that I can do not to turn and run, but because I am a Gryffindor I turn back to my path and step resolutely toward my goal. I can no longer think and my eyes are trying to read the cracks and patterns in the marble floor like an arithmancy equation, searching for some meaning, some little answer that I am obviously missing…but there is nothing there.

And I know it is now my name bubbling on their lips as I walk on, leaving them in the wake of my grief.

"Lupin, Remus J.?" The voice in the waiting area calls out. I stumble to the desk, barely able to meet the receptionist eyes. She arches a questioning brow, "MacNair will see you now."

It had to be Walden MacNair of all the bloody people, death eater, not caught or convicted but known to The Order none the less. A thought unbidden comes to my mind…_did he know Sirius was_…and I stop myself with a helpless shutter, eyes gripped tightly closed I swallow and step into his office.

"Sit!" he snaps, and I obey mindlessly like a well trained dog, my eyes still locked on the floor. I can hear him shuffling through my paperwork.

"So," he drawls,"moving are you?"

"Yes, sir." It doesn't even pain me to call this foul human sir, normally quiet rage would be rising in me, but now there is only hollowness.

"Well of course normally this wouldn't be a problem, but given recent…events…I believe it would be in order for you to provide at least one letter of recommendation."

My mind is reeling again, and I can't cloak the look of disbelief I give him.

He smirks at me, "Surely, Lupin you have at least one…" he pauses as if carefully considering his words "…_friend_ that is willing to vouch for you."

My shear aloneness comes crashing down on me and I know there are unshed tears shining in my eyes.

No one.

No one.

There is no one left.

Only me.

MacNair is staring, his smirk deepening if possible, and I know he knows, knows I am alone, knows I am broken and betrayed and utterly, utterly alone.

"Dumbledore." I gasp, holding that name in my mind like a talisman. MacNair pales but the hateful smirk stays firmly in place.

"Albus Dumbledore." I repeat with more strength.

"I see. Well you have one week to procure a letter of recommendation." He says pinning me under his eyes.

"You may go."


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

I make my way home, where there is tea and solitude and aching so deep my hands shake so I drip the tea everywhere I go.

None of this matters. None of this matters because I am standing in front of the wardrobe staring blankly wondering what to do with _his _clothing. From somewhere miles away I can see a hand reaching out and loving, timidly touching the arm of his leather jacket. Then it is _my_ hand that flinches back, and it is _my other hand_ smashing the tea cup into the wall, and then such clarity of crystalline pain ripping through me that I turn and leave the house, stopping only when I am out the door to breathe deeply and reset the wards.

I walk blindly through the streets, so I am relieved when I discover I have been walking toward the leaky cauldron the whole time. Sirius…_he…_ insisted that we be disconnected from the flue network when we moved into the flat. He said he worried for my safety when he was out on missions. That sounds utterly mad now. How can I reconcile that against the deaths and betrayal of our closest friends? These are the thoughts that leave me awake and dry heaving through the nights…I can not reconcile the man I knew with the things he has done. They are like pieces from two different puzzles that can not be shoved together no matter how hard you try, but none the less I find myself, day after day working desperately to force them together into one cohesive picture.

When I enter the Leaky Cauldron, old toothless Tom merciful, silently nods his head toward the flue allowing me to escape the joyful crowd without attracting attention. Spinning and overly aware that there is nothing but tea and bile in my stomach I land gracelessly in the Hogshead Inn. Here it is quiet, only the muffled whispers of it's less than reputable customers meet my ears. Another silent nod from a barman and I am out the door and walking through the gloom and mist toward Hogwarts. The memories along this path assault me.

James breezing down the road as if the very air we breathed belonged to him, Peter bouncing on the balls of his feet, scampering forward and then falling back in a struggle to keep up, glancing at each of us as though he still can't believe his luck…and Sirius…laughing and tossing his hair, grin unbreakable, eye's cast over his shoulder sparkling mischievously with a secret that only I can read.

Then, those rare times we had managed to slip away unnoticed, by ourselves, his hand cold and dry in mine pulling me up the path in great leaping bounds through the snow, rushing to get back before curfew. Both of us floating along on the joy of being young and wild in the first blush love, we ran together under the thin sickle of the moon.

The memories snap away and I find myself retching up my tea on the side of the road, it like the joy of youth is gone and leaves me feeling hollow with a bad taste in my mouth.

I stand and walk, lurching like an inferi, through the gate. Minerva is waiting as I reach the great oaken doors.

"Remus?" it comes out as a question, and for just a moment I wonder who she is talking to.

"Minerva." I answer, trying to offer her a friendly smile. She returns it with her rarest of gentle looks that makes me wonder if she is going to offer me a biscuit.

"Aberforth sent word that you were on your way. Albus will be returning within the hour. Is everything alright?" The way she asks reminds me that it has been only two weeks since the war ended, that people are still dying and Deatheaters are still roaming free.

"Uh…I…well, yes? It's more of a personal matter I need the headmasters help with."

She nods, "Come let's have a cup of tea and get warm while you wait for him." And then, she does offer me that biscuit.

Her kindness is awkward, and somewhat unfamiliar, but she speaks gently to me of meaningless things. The Quiddich Cup, coming exams, and amusing stories of career counseling and for a moment I can almost forget.

After a while she escorts me the headmaster's office, leaving me with his password and a kind hand on my shoulder. As I make my way up the moving staircase I feel as though I were a frightened 11 year old boy again, wondering if I would in fact be given passage into the world of humans. The office door swings open before I can raise my hand to knock.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

"Come in and have a seat Remus." Dumbledore barely glances up from his writing.

"Thank you, sir." I sit and wait in silence.

Resting his quill in a silver inkpot Dumbledore looks up over those half-moon glasses and into my mind. I can feel the threads of his legilimancy tangling on my shields. It is almost too much, to let him see what I am feeling and thinking would be force myself to acknowledge it, and I simply can't. Dumbledore however seems to understand this and releases me from that deeper fierceness of his stare.

"How are you?" there is a gentle depth to that simple question, and I almost want to let it all come tumbling out of me; the pain, the loss, the bitter disappointment, the shame, the guilt, the love, but instead I steady myself with a breath and let it all sink back into me.

"I…well…ah, as well as can be expected I suppose." I answer.

"Yes, you have lost as much as anyone could in all of this." Dumbledore's face is old and tired; his sad small smile is lacking any of his infamous sparkle. "You are not the first who has found that love can be treacherous and not always as it seems."

This actually shocks me out of my stupor for a moment. Relationships such as my and Sirius' are not unknown in the wizarding world. They are simply utterly, dutifully ignored. Even Sirius' family would have turned a blind eye despite my low status, mixed blood and even lycanthropy, had he only been willing to hide me away and take a bride befitting his station to provide a suitable heir. No doubt they would have been thrill to hold such a shameful barganing chip on him. Dumbledore has broken a deep unspoken law withhis acknowledgment, I am stunned and grateful...and wish I could tell him what that matter of fact acceptance means to me. I take another steadying breath though…because any acknowledgment of that bitter love is also an acknowledgement of my guilt and shame and so many other horrible swirling things.

"Well, there's just…just nothing else to say about that, is there really?" I ask somewhat helplessly. "And surely you are too busy for this…I've come only to ask if you would provide a letter to the registry supporting my right to change residence."

Dumbledore makes a vague dismissive gesture. "Yes, yes of course Remus…but tell me now, where do you plan to go?"

"To my family cottage, I suppose. It's empty now that my parent are both gone…and it has any facilities I might need."

"Solitude can heal the soul, truly Remus…but I wonder if you realize that it is the people who care for us that drive us to that healing?" He holds up a hand to stop me before I can speak. "I do not say these things to be cruel; though I am sure they must seem to only remind you of your loss. No, Remus…I only hope that you have considered that you are here and living and must find some reason to continue doing so. I fear you will withdraw so deeply into yourself you will forget that there are still reasons to keep on."

"Sir, I…I'm not sure I'm ready for a reason yet…too much has happened…too much it left unanswered…"

"Sometimes there are no answers Remus."

"I know, sir…just…well when is the trial to be?"

"Remus, I greatly doubt that even Veritaserum would give you the answers you seek." He is again gazing keenly at me over those spectacles. "However, for Sirius there shall be no trial. He was delivered directly to Azkaban."

"_What_?" it comes out as a gasp that reveals too much…more even than I want to reveal to myself. Despite myself I am livid and pacing my way across the room before I can quell the burst of emotion. "Even bloody _Bellatrix_ LeStrange is to get trial! Damn it! This is not what we were fighting for!"

"Remus," It was gentle, but a warning none the less.

"But…how can there be no trial?"

"Many are being jailed without formal trial these days. People seek to forget the darkness."

"I've never had that luxury." I am shamed by the bitterness I hear in my own word.

"No, Remus I don't suppose you have, but would you deny it to others?

"I might…" I whisper "if stands in the way of knowing the truth."

"What truth is that? If we look to the facts the truth is obvious. I know you understand the implications of Lily and James having been killed while protected by the Fidelus Charm."

"But there is more than that…there is the Why and the How Long." And the "how could you?" my mind adds silently.

"Yes Remus, but are those questions for the Wizengamut to ask or you?

"I don't know…but surely if he has been close to Voldemort he could supply useful information about the remaining Deatheaters?" I was beginning to sound panicked and somewhat pathetic, even to my own ears.

"Remus, stop by the infirmary and see Poppy. She's rather worried about you, you know."

Both deflated and dismissed I reply, "Yes sir." Then rise to leave.

"And Remus, pick up some dreamless sleep potion while your there. You look as though you could use the rest." I look up at him, but he has already returned to him writing.

Poppy is dotting and concerned as she ever was when I was a child in her care. She harrumphs that I am too thin, too pale, obviously not sleeping. She focuses on my physical being because that is her comfort zone. I know were she able she would try to take me in her arms and mend my broken heart, but in the end, she must settle for sending me off with an arm full of potions and a promise to eat. Truly, I love her for it.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

_Sirius_

Cold…cold, damp, and dark and I cannot remember where I am…then it flows into me like ice water…Peter.

Death and pain and Azkaban. Peter's eyes watering as he shouted "James and Lily! Sirius how could you!"

God, he even meant it! He blamed me for giving him the opportunity to betray them!

James body stretched out in the doorway too pale, too still, too empty.

Lily crumpled like a rag doll on the floor in front of Harry's cot.

Both of them dead.

I did this. Me.

It is whole, hollow, and real.

I can hear my own voice telling James that Peter was the better choice, and I can remember thinking "The spy, god…Moony must be the spy!" It feels like a bludger is loose in my stomach…all the pain, distrust, betrayal, and I brought it on myself. I try for a moment to grasp at some happier thought, quidditch, chocolate, fingers running over sun warmed skin, but I find that they are all tainted. None of my memories is safe from what they inevitably lead to; the war, and death and mistrust, lost faith and James...and Lily... _Peter._

I push myself to take it, to endure it, and when I can no longer stand it I shift into Padfoot raise my head and howl piteously at the rising moon; Moon…Moony, Remus. God I have left Remus alone, and he doesn't know…he does not know. I didn't trust him, and I was wrong. Wrong about everything, I was wrong about him and Peter and myself and _everything_. Damn it! I Betrayed Moony. I betrayed myself…but slowly I come to understand; I didn't betray James…I did not betray James. I'm innocent. I shift again and try the words out. "Innocent" I whisper it into the darkness. Then the on-slot stops. I am just Sirius, cold and hungry, alone and hurting,shamedand Innocent. Innocent.

_

* * *

_

_Remus_

Almost two months have passed since the end of the world and I am standing in the kitchen that I once considered my mothers domain. I am naked, shaking and bleeding, but I have survived another moon. I almost want to curse my resilience. How can I keep going when so much in the world is broken? Why do I have to keep waking up and living through this? Haven't I earned the little bit of peace that death might bring?

I suppose it really doesn't matter what I have or have not earned, because it has no effect on what is. My world is so empty, built haphazardly on the ashes and bones of so much pain. I know I should only be mourning Lily, James and Peter, but I can't help but think of _him_. The careless way he brushed his hair from forehead and squinted at the crossword puzzle as he drank his morning tea and struggled into wakefulness. The way he would scowl in sleepy concentration as he charmed the brush to wash our breakfast dishes, or tip his chair back on two legs and talk about his plans for the day. Despite it all it seems a travesty that he isn't here doing just that. I am angry and disgusted with myself for thinking such things, but I can't make myself deny them either. It feels as though I am living with the ghost of the man I thought he was. The fear that shakes me to the core is that I may never truly accept the man I now know he is, that I will go on living with and loving the ghost of someone who never was, for the rest of my life.

It is that thought that finally bursts something I hadn't even realized was inside me and I suddenly, _must know_. The why, the how and the million other things that people have told me I should not seek. Those answers, which I have been told, will add to my suffering rather than ease it.

My suffering and pain has gone on static and holding since that fateful day when the entire world fell apart and the pieces suddenly refused to fit back together. I've cradled my pain inside me like a precious jewel because it is all I have left of any of them. The bitter cold of it has radiated through me the way love and joy once did, till I have become frozen by it. I move listless and worthlessly through my days and you could say that I am living, but I couldn't tell you why. It cannot get worse than this I tell myself, as I have done so many times before. However, this is the first time I believe it.


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

This time the walk through Hogsmead is not quiet so painful, or at the very least, it doesn't force me to leave this mornings tea on the side of the road.

The snow is falling in great flakes and clumps that cling to my cloak, and I realize suddenly that it is almost Christmas. Time, it appears, has passed me by. Fairy lights and ropes of garland now seem to create a wall between me, and the people bustling through the streets.

"Remus!" I hear a gravelly joyous voice calling.

I turn to see Hagrid rushing toward me, absently knocking people aside with his bulk. He is grinning broadly and seems to have tinsel and pine needle stuck in his wooly beard.

"Hello Hagrid."

"Remus, good ter see ya! Are ye coming up fer tha' Christmas feast then?" he asks, patting me on my shoulder and nearly knocking me to my knees.

"Well…" My god, it isn't just almost Christmas…It is Christmas and I've been too lost in my own suffering to notice.

"Come on then, we'll be late, and Dumbledore'll be missin' this." He winks and holds up a small cask that had been engulfed in one of his enormous hands."

Hagrid is pleasant and chatty as we make out way up to the castle and thankfully he does not seem to notice how jarred I am by his chipper mood. I find however, that for the first time in a while I can at least smile and nod in the appropriate places.

The feast it self is not too hateful, Minerva is red cheeked and giggling at Albus' jokes as he twinkles at her over his brandy. Flitwick seems to have drunk a bit too much and keeps falling over the back of his chair as he laughs and wildly reinacts scenes from his dueling days. The few students who have stayed over the holiday seem slightly perturbed when they notice their elders' lighthearted and well pickled cheer, but still whisper behind their hands and laugh.

Some how sitting here, it doesn't seem to hurt so much remember myself in those students place. My friends gathered around me and the struggles of homework a week from being critical. For a brief time I let myself forget that I came here with a purpose and just enjoy the moment.

Later though, in Dumbledore's office, I must face the reasons that brought me here.

"Headmaster…"

"Please, call me Albus. I haven't been your headmaster for several years." He smiles.

"Albus then, I …I need to speak with Sirius." He simply stares at me so I go on. "I know I am not likely to get answers that satisfy me…but I cannot go on this way. I, just…did you know I had no idea today was Christmas? I had no idea until I met Hagrid in Hogsmead. I've been so stuck in that moment of his betrayal that I rarely know what day it is. I must face him, or I don't think I'll ever be able to get on with my life." It came pouring out of me in a rush, and when I finally looked up to meet Dumbledore's eyes he was gazing at me with a thoughtful look on his face, his fingers tangled in his beard and wrapped around his chin. For a long moment, we just looked at each other like that, and then I then let my occlumency shields drop, knowing finally I am already broken and to admit it could break me no further. Yes, I was afraid, but Albus is a skilled and gentle legilimens and I could only just feel the edges of the memories of these last two terrible months rise to the surface before he released them and let them sink back into the recesses of my mind. It seemed like hours that we sat silent like that, till finally he closed his eyes, sighed and nodded.

"Stay here in the castle tonight. We must move swiftly, your timing is good at least. Much of the ministry is distracted and stretched thin as this is the first holiday since the war ended. We should be able to quietly arrange a visit tomorrow or the day following."

Letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding I replied "Thank you, Sir."

"Remus," he said, gently and somewhat sadly, "We will do this, but there is no way to know what he might say to you. Are you so sure that you would not rather live with the memories you have?"

"Headmaster…Albus, I can't live with those memories anymore…it's like living with the ghost of a lie. I need to face the truth of him, or… well I just _must_ face the truth of him. I have no other options." He nodded understandingly and rang for a house elf to show me to a guest room.

As I lay in a dark and unfamiliar room, I wonder if I am insane and how I have fallen so far. For surely there can be no explanations for this. No excuses can heal a betrayal of this magnitude. What he's done is what he's done; and it is not something that can be forgiven, or fixed. So what is it I am seeking? Would there be some solace in hearing him admit the pain and tragedy he bestowed upon that little family I am so missing? Will I be relieved to have him tell me that those years and moments were all lies? Can any healing come at all of this? Is there anything left here to heal?

Morning comes on me suddenly; I don't feel that I have slept at all. Yet I must have, because it was dark and then my eyes were opening and the first rays of sunrise were stealing through the windows. Showing great mercy, it seems that Dumbledore had arranged for the house elves to serve me breakfast in my room. But I cannot eat; I keep bringing things such as toast and bits of tomatoes to my mouth, before I stare at them and set them down again. Tea is good though, I drink cup after cup of it and feel my stomach contract around it.

Part of me says I should get up and walk quietly out of the castle before Dumbledore comes to find me; that I should simply walk away and fade into the oblivion of my guilt and grief rather than face _him_. However before I can listen too carefully to that voice Albus is knocking on my door and it is time to go.

We go by port key to a cold and bitter dock where we must sign in and hand over our wands before we are ushered onto a small dilapidated boat that feels as though it will shatter with each coming wave. Albus speaks in whispers to the ferryman and I find myself wondering what favors he has called in to get us here, but then there is a small barren island of rock with Azkaban's cold grey tower rising up on the horizon and then I think no more.


	7. Chapter 7

7

It is beyond bitterly cold here, a chill that goes beyond temperature and seeps into ones soul. My breath is rattling in my chest, and something in my head is screaming for me turn right around and get back on that boat and stay there till it is firmly on the other side of the cold and raging sea. Instead I follow Albus blindly up the coiling stair, trying to keep my eyes focused straight ahead and block out the muffled screams of the prisoners. Dementors occasionally drift towards us, but Albus turns them away with nothing more than an upraised hand. There are no mice here, no spiders, no roaches; this place is too cold and lifeless even for vermin. At last we are at the top of the tower, and walking past cells with half walls and bars reaching up into the ceiling. I am reminded oddly of my trips to the zoo as a child. Empty and wild eyes stare at us unbelievingly as we pass by.

Dumbledore chases away the Dementors who hover around the cell ahead of us, and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Remus, I shall wait at the end of the hall for you. Call if you need me." And with a small squeeze of his hand and a sad smile he turns and leaves me to face Sirius, alone.

I can't hold back a gasp as I walk up and look through the bars. It is not Sirius I see, but Padfoot, huddled in the corner whimpering. I can feel the air change as he shifts suddenly back, eyes clinched shut, face contorted into a mask of pain and slow tears cutting silent paths through the dirt on his face. He whispers something to himself swallows and opens his eyes. When he sees me, a sob escapes his throat and he scrambles backwards away from me shaking his head "No!" he says whimpering desperately "Not him, you can't take him!" still shaking his head.

He's gone mad, I realize only two months and he's gone mad. The man pressed against the back wall of his cell is not my Sirius. He is too dirty, pale, thin and frightened. I almost turn away, then I remember how terrified and broken he had seemed that night he confessed his love to me and it was not so different to the look on his face now. I have come too far today and were I to walk away now I know I would never comeback. So I stay, and speak.

"Sirius?" I'm shocked by how gentle it sounds. This is not how I wanted to sound when I finally confronted him. I wanted to be fierce and righteous, to smite him with my rage, but at the sound of my voice he stills and his mouth opens in shock.

"Moony?" His voice cracks as he says it, and I flinch at the sound of that name, but I nod none the less, and then his face breaks into a mournful yearning that is far too like a puppy begging.

"You came? You're here? Really here?" now the tears are flowing freely down his rapturous face and I _don't_ want to think about why he is so pleased to see me. Does he think I am under his thrall? Does this seem like a windfall that he may be able to kill me even in here, and complete his act of destroying our little family of marauders? Or worst of all did he, does he, has he always truly loved me?

He is creeping slowly towards the bars as though a swift movement would frighten me away.

"Moony…Remus…Remus…God you're here! You came…here…Remus?" He is whispering it like a prayer or a mantra one hand reaching out towards the bars, and I am about to step back away from him when he flinches back and drops his hand. I can see an angry red welt rising from a stinging hex that must be on the bars, his eyes however have never left my face they seem to be devouring me hungrily, and I know suddenly that it was a mistake to come here.

He lets out a breath and shakes his head sadly. "You don't know." He whispers.

"I don't know." I agree, and finally some of that wished for righteousness is creeping into my voice. "Why! Sirius, Why?" It is a demand as much as a question and I am surprised by the sudden forcefulness of it and my breath is coming in short shallow pants.

"A rat." He spits. "A traitor, a rat…how were we all so blind Moony? And…I suspected you." His face crumples "…I'm sorry Remus."

"Damn it Sirius! What are talking about? You suspected me? How could you suspect me when you…you! God Sirius how could you?" My eyes squeeze shut to stop the tears I have held since that night. Then that terrible mantic laugh of his breaks through my head. When I look up again he is still and silent.

"Peter." He says it clearly and firmly, the look on his face murderous.

"You killed him." I reply.

He smiles coldly and shakes his head "Not yet."

"Good god you have gone mad!"

"Damn it!" He mutters to himself, "I'm doing this all wrong." Then he smashes his fist into the stone wall. I jump backwards and when he turns toward me there is blood dripping from his fingers but his eyes are pleading.

"Please hear me Remus?" he begs "I've prayed for this chance and now I'm bollixing it all up."

That is too, too like him and I realize that all this time I truly did think of him as dead and it comes as somewhat of a shock to see him standing here before me expression and voice so like it always was.

He has taken my shocked silence as an agreement and he goes on talking. "We switched. Peter and I switched. The fidelus charm."

"What?" I ask.

"After that night…our fight…the last fight. Do you remember?" He asks nervously. And I am nodding my head numbly, because how can I forget? It is the memory of that night that has driven me here in the first place. The memories of that night and the lingering shame of those broken declarations of love haunt me.

"I couldn't trust myself anymore." He says refusing to meet my eyes for the first time since I'd arrived. "I told James to switch to Peter…" his voice cracks, and I want to tell him to shut up, but I can't. I'm frozen there and listening despite myself. He is breaking down and starting to truly weep as he goes on "I told him Peter was the safer choice…that no one would suspect…little Peter."

I am shaking my head and my mouth is working, but no sound comes out of me. How can he say these things? How can he lie even now?

He looks up at me and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before he goes on. "Then he…god…I found them like that Remus…and then I knew. I knew what he had done. I went after him…"

"You killed him." I reply, I am surprised by my own clear words because all I can hear in my head is _shut up shut up shutupshutupshutup._ Sirius only shakes his head; his eye's never leaving mine.

"I would have." he replies simply, "but he blasted the street apart and took off down the sewer as Wormtail."

"They found…"I start to say, but he cuts me off.

"His finger. I know I saw him cut it off before he transformed."

"Sirius…"

"Remus, bring me Veritaserum, do a Priori Incantatem on the wands…a pensieve! Anything! Just…" his voice drops low, "believe me?"

And gods help me I do.

"Albus…" I whisper.

"Dumbledore?" He asks confusedly.

I nod, "he's here…he's the one that brought me. I…I don't know that he will listen to you…I don't even know why I'm listening to you." But I do…in my mind I can hear the echoes of the people gossiping in the ministry

…_still don't know what curse he used…suspect it was the reductor…but so much damage…who knows…_

The answer to this seems simple now, a Priori Incantatem on both wands will reveal it all.

…_Poor Pettigrew, he was such a mousey little fellow, who knows why that maniac went after him of all people…_

And god why would he have gone after Peter first? Why not me? Why not more powerful or secret members of The Order?

And here in the least likely of all places, from the least likely of all people are the answers that make sense, and I believe him. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me but I believe him.

"Albus doesn't know that you all became Animagi…there is just so much, it's just so complex and tangled. I don't know if anyone could believe it Sirius." His face has broken again into that rapturous look.

"You believe me? You're here and you believe me?"

"I…just….god, I think I do." I stutter, and his hands are reaching out through the bars regardless of the stinging hex to touch me, he winces as one livid swelling hand reaches up to touch my face reverently and then he draws back.

"Go get Dumbledore?" he asks, and all I can do is nod. I turn away and see Dumbledore at the end of the hall fixing me with a very peculiar look. I silently wave for him to join us, and he nods once and makes his way to Sirius' cell.

"Did you need me Remus?" he asks me once he is in hearing distance.

"Yes…" I start to speak but falter…how was I to say this? Would he think me weak or confunded, or further addled by misplaced love? And for what reason would anyone believe this twisted tale?

"Headmaster…" Sirius is speaking and Dumbledore is watching him warily, "I need….I have…Peter…he…" he babbles helplessly.

"Enough Sirius! Let me speak to him." I say and he quiets and stands very still, his eyes locked to my face. I turn toward Dumbledore and drop all of my occlumency shields and will thoughts of the conversation I just had with Sirius to rise in my mind. His eyes widen briefly, but then I feel his legilimancy tangling through my brain and I draw up memories of watching James, Sirius and Peter complete the Animagi transformation. Then I wait until Dumbledore has turned his keen gaze toward Sirius.

"Sirius, you need to think about the night the fidelus was cast…and about going after Peter." I say softly. He winces but I can tell he's following my direction. "Now look in Dumbledore's eyes." I tell him.

"Remus…Sirius…" Dumbledore starts slowly, "is there something you'd like to tell me?" He asks. It is the same question he asked a million times when we were brought to his office as mischievous boys, but never in my life would I have thought that those words might come as a great comfort one day.

"Sir," I say "we need Veritaserum and a witness." Albus arches an eyebrow at me, but draws a slender vile from his sleeve.

"I thought, this morning that this might come in handy." He replies dryly and hands me the vial. "Though time maybe of the essence."

I press the cool vial into Sirius' hand and he takes it with a nod and downs in a single gulp. The emptiness that steals across his face as the potion takes hold chills me.

"Sirius, did you bring about the deaths of Lily and James Potter?" Dumbledore asks.

"Yes." Sirius replies blankly, and Dumbledore fixes me with a sad and piteous look. I Shake my head and interrupt him to ask the next question.

"Sirius, were you James and Lily's Secret Keeper?"

"No."

Dumbledore starts at this, and turns to stare at Sirius.

"Who was?" I continue.

"Peter."

"Why was no one told of this switch?"

"It was a bluff. No one would suspect Peter." Sirius answers, but Albus is steadily watching me with some mistrust in his eyes. He is hearing it, but I can tell he does not believe…even with the Veritaserum, and it is then that I realize just how helpless the situation truly is. Albus lays a hand on my shoulder.

"Even still Remus; there are the muggles and Peter who died at his hand." There is mercy in his voice as he says this, and I realize I have misjudged him. He does believe, but he still sees this as a form of justice. Shakily I address Sirius again.

"Did you kill Peter?"

"Not yet." He replies emotionlessly.

Dumbledore's face betrays his shock at those cold words, and he look questioningly at me for a moment, before his eyes seem to shutter themselves and he draws up inside himself. He nods silently to some internal decision, and reaches back into his sleeve and pull forth a second vial.

"The antidote." He says simply and passes it to me.

"Sir…" I start, but he holds up a hand to cut me off.

"Remus there are many questions to be asked, but they can not be answered now. Our time here has run short. You and I must return to Hogwarts to speak of these revelations further."

I turn to look at Sirius who is still blank faced from the Veritaserum. Taking in his thinness and the grime on his too pale skin, I speak. "We can't…"

"We must leave him now Remus, but know that we will investigate this to its conclusion." I know this is true, we cannot sweep him out of this hell pit based on a few statements heard solely by a schoolmaster and a werewolf. I can hardly understand what has happened here, and surely no one else would. This time it is I wincing through the stinging hex, as I tip the antidote into Sirius' slack jawed mouth. He coughs twice and blinks at us bleary eyed and confused.

"Sirius" Dumbledore says, "You have given us some rather interesting information that raises as many questions as it answers."

"You'll find Peter though? He'll pay for what he's done?" Sirius asks, his now boney jaw jutting, sharply angled and hard.

One side of Dumbledore's mouth twists up in a wry smile, "Yes, I assume that will be one of our aims." He replies, his eyes twinkling even here in the cold of Azkaban. Sirius nods and turns back to me.

"Moony…" he whispers, and there is just too much emotion in that word, it flushes with shame, regret, relief, longing, pain, hope, defeat and love. I can feel each of those emotions rise up inside me in answer to the million unasked questions those two syllables hold. All I can do is nod and whisper back "…I know." He nods in reply, then closes his eyes and turns his back before we can start to walk away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **Sorry this chapter was so slow to come, as often happens life has intruded upon my writing. A big thanks to those who are reading and reviewing. The Anonymous Review option has been enabled! (Thank you Mara Jade Jedi for clueing me in!)

Oh! and I seem to have neglected the legal disclaimers. I own nothing! I'm simply playingin J.K. Rowling's sand box.**

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**8**

We do not speak again till we have reached the doors of the school when Dumbledore turns to me, "Remus, return to your room and rest. I will send for you later." And then he is gone in a swirl of spangled robes and swift clicking boot heels. I start toward the guest room, but instead find myself wandering though the deserted corridors of the castle. The memories are thick as the smell of my mothers bread once was on her baking days. Full and warm and alluring despite the sour tang of yeast that wove through them.

I realize with a start, that I am standing before the statue of the hump-backed witch that marks the tunnel into Honeydukes. I remember our first venture into that dark foreboding space, still unaware of the sweet treasure that lay at its end. At the time it seemed both dangerous and harmless, none of us believing that any ill could come to us despite the risks we took. I can still see each of their faces, so young, and glowing in the wand light. James set and resolute, refusing to give way to the fear lurking just beneath the surface. Sirius was carefree and utterly unconcerned, happy just to be out and roaming in the night. Peter continually jumping away from the shadows and unnamed sounds in the darkness; but following none the less.

None of the revelations of the day have fixed this, I realize. I have only traded one traitor for another, and my little family of trusted friends remains irrevocably broken. I love a traitor just the same, even though not as much nor in the same way, but I loved him. Peter was a brother to me. He was one of the three friends who had brought a hopeful dawn to the lingering dark night of my childhood.

Even still, Sirius had been right today…we were all blind. Peter who had always been far too eager to please…anyone. Peter who loved to hover at the edges of brilliance, but could never quiet obtain it. Peter whose mind could be changed and convictions be altered by nothing more than a nod or suggestion. Peter who had made a habit of hiding in the shadows of bigger, stronger more powerful wizards. Peter, the rat. Peter. Of course Peter would be the one to turn to, what had seemed for a time the unbeatable force that was Voldemort. I can not decide if we had overestimated him or underestimated him. Regardless, we had trusted him and it had been a deadly mistake.

The bitterness that rises in me is breath taking, followed closely by rage and confusion. _Peter. _The change in my feelings is remarkable…When I thought Sirius was our betrayer I was so torn, so shamed. Now I know it to be Peter, it is like a switch has been flipped inside me and that unbearable static of emotion is gone. There is a cold stillness within me, because _this, _this makes sense. I can understand that Peter would turn from us. I can understand that my friendship with him was misplaced, where as I could never comprehend that my love of Sirius was. I am angry. I am bitter and hurt, but I can comprehend that hero-worship might become something darker.

_Darker_…really the darkest part is I _want _it to have been Peter, childhood friend or not something despicably like joy leaps inside me when I consider that it was him, and not Sirius. No, there are no escapes from shame. This is a weakness, surely, that at the first words suggesting Sirius' innocence are what I would grasp and cling to. I know that accepting Sirius' claims has far more to do with my heart making sense of this, than my head. I desperately wanted to believe it was anyone, _anyone_ other than Sirius. I can't help but wonder, if it had been someone else that he had named, or if he had claimed imperius or cracking under torture…or any of a thousand possibilities, would I have believed him so easily?

To my shame I can't claim I wouldn't have. It leaves me feeling like a traitor myself. First I accepted, never truly believed but accepted, it was Sirius. Now, with only a few words and so little proof I _believe_ it is Peter. I've never thought of myself as fickle, but here the proof lies. I believe Sirius, because I want to believe. My friendship with Peter be damned, I want to believe my lover is innocent. It is shameful and even pathetic, but it is at least true. Heaven knows there's been to little truth about lately.

I sigh, exhausted and with my head aching I return to my room and fall into something that resembles sleep.


End file.
